


Five times Jillian Holtzmann doesn’t fit in – and one time she does

by flailingmuse



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flailingmuse/pseuds/flailingmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of saying all the things she wants to say, all the clever insults and witty remarks, she turns and runs towards home, clutching her books to her chest. Faintly she hears laughter behind her and not for the first time she pretends it's not aimed at her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Jillian Holtzmann doesn’t fit in – and one time she does

**Author's Note:**

> So like everyone else in the world who saw Ghostbusters, I am *heart eyes* over Holtzmann, so I wrote a little thing. Enjoy!

She is 8 years old and walking home from the library. There is a stack of books in her arms that come up to her nose - she's recently decided she's going to run a space station when she's older, and knows she needs to start researching now if she wants to be any good at it. The librarian at the desk had given her That Look. The one that manages to be condescending and disapproving all in one, while hiding behind a mask of politeness. She’s getting good at reading complicated looks like that.

Lately she’s been getting them a lot.

There are a group of kids from her school gathered on the corner, a few streets before she gets home. She's seen them there a bunch of times, and they always mutually ignore each other. She shifts the weight of the books in her arms and does not look at them. Something hits her in the side of the head, making her cry out and turn too fast. The bottom book slips in her arms and suddenly the whole stack is in the gutter. She scrambles after them, praying they’re all okay. If they get damaged she knows she can’t pay whatever fine the library will give her. Then she’ll be banned forever and there won’t be anywhere else to get anything interesting to read from, not for ages and-

They're all fine. She's reaching for the last one when she sees a pair of sneakers in front of her.

"You're such a weirdo, Holtzmann."

She doesn't even know this kids name, but she knows the tone. She bites her lip, grabs the last book, and stands up. He's got a look on his face like he wants to hit her, but doesn't know why. Holtzmann does. Instead of saying all the things she wants to say, all the clever insults and witty remarks, she turns and runs towards home, clutching her books to her chest. Faintly she hears laughter behind her and not for the first time she pretends it's not aimed at her.

\---

She’s 12 years old and her life can be condensed down into two things – the X-files and her science homework. Since the rest of her school also has to do the science homework, she doesn’t need to talk about it that much. But the rest of her school don’t all watch the show, and Holtzmann knows this is a tragedy that needs correcting. In the span of two months she gets detention five times for talking about it in class instead of working, three times for writing about an episode of the show instead of the assigned homework – her English teacher privately congratulates her on an excellent vocabulary, but fails her anyway because she was supposed to be writing an analysis of a class text not of the romantic tension between fictional characters – and once for getting in a fight with a girl who said she watched the show and thought Scully was an idiot.

Still she can’t not talk about it. How incredible to think, to know that there must be something out there, something unexplainable, incomprehensible. And some of it must be true, she just knows it. There wouldn’t be so many episodes if all of it was based entirely on lies. She’s expanding on one of her theories about the makers of the show trying to get secret messages out through the medium of fiction when the girl she’s talking to has finally had enough.

“Oh, my god, Jillian – will you just shut up already?”

Holtzmann’s mouth snaps shut. The girl rolls her eyes.

“Like, nobody cares, you know? It’s just a dumb show. Get over it already.”

The bell rings and she gets up to head to class. Holtzmann just sits there, staring after her. The endless words inside her dry up, her insides are a desert, endless and silent. She swallows.

When she gets home she tears down her posters and shoves them in the trash.

But she doesn’t stop watching the show.

\---

She’s 16 and the awards ceremony has been gratifying but boring. She knows she’s smart. Public acknowledgement of that fact has never been necessary, but everyone else seems impressed by it so she’s putting up with it. Besides, it’s just some school thing and none of it will matter in two weeks’ time. Anyway, the speeches and polite smiling part is all done with now, and the post-awards party is starting, which is the only part of the whole thing she’s been remotely looking forward to. Most of the other attendees are standing around in small groups, all dressed in black and white and smart splashes of colour, talking quietly to each other and giving little tinkling bursts of laughter. Holtzmann wants to roll her eyes at the whole thing but she’s been told to at least try and behave tonight, so she is.

Trying, that is.

Music starts to play, something generic and inoffensive, and a few people sway together. Polite dancing, a little shuffle from side to side in high heels, a few twitches of arm movements that might have found a beat if they’d tried hard enough. Holtzmann makes her way up to the DJ booth, rolling up the sleeves of her suit as she walks. She snaps her fingers in time with the music, and raises herself up on her tiptoes to talk to the man in the booth. He nods, and a few moments later the song is changed, and far louder. The polite chatter stops in surprise, and a few other people smile, start to dance with each other with a bit more enthusiasm. Which is, Holtzmann thinks, a little more like it.

She spins her way into the centre of the room, head bobbing, turning to moonwalk past a group of teachers. They frown, she grins, loosens her tie. A couple of guys come up to dance with her, adolescent elbows flailing. Three girls join soon after, kicking off their heels to shimmy on the smooth floor, linking arms and sliding in circles around each other. Holtzmann is having the time of her life. This is way better than some crummy school trophy that will end its life in a trash can. She raises her arms, flapping her hands to the off-beat, and as she turns she comes face to face with one of the frowning teachers from earlier. She flaps one hand, the other, then stops. Lowers her arms. Her grin fades.

“That’s quite enough, Miss Holtzmann.”

“The party just started, everyone’s having a great time,” she tries, offering a smile as she gestures at the dancing crowd behind her. The teacher shakes his head.

“This is not that kind of…event. I believe it’s time for you to head home. You have an early class tomorrow, no doubt.”

“Not really, I--” The teacher purses her lips and Holtzmann shuts up. The music thumps on, oblivious, and her fist clenches at her side. Already the dancers that had joined her are realising she’s gone, and are drifting away from each other. The girls are fastening themselves back into their heels, flushed and giggling, but pointedly not looking in Holtzmann’s direction. She shifts her jaw, suddenly too mad to speak, the depth of it surprising her.

“Fine.” She turns and strides out of the room.

“Later, alligators!” she lifts an arm, flipping a middle finger salute at the crowd behind her without looking back. Her eyes sting as she storms out and she angrily swipes at them as she starts the walk back home. She stares up into the sky as she walks, tracing the scattered constellations of stars. Billions of light years away they twinkle, dying even as they shine down at the world. She thinks, if they were sentient, they'd understand how she feels. She can still feel the rhythm of the song in her pulse, mixed hotly with the anger. She snaps her fingers, half sings the words she knows, and dances the rest of the way home.

\---

Now she’s 21 and working alone in her room. The music is cranked up loud, and she’s buzzing on too many energy drinks. Her desk and the floor are littered with books and electronic components, a wrench balanced on an open drawer, out of which wires and bits of circuit boards spill out. The tubs and boxes she tries to organise things in are haphazardly stacked all over the place, and it’s only her excellent memory for where she last saw something that ever lets her find anything. She’s tinkering again, and last time that ended in three different fire alarms and very nearly a call to the bomb squad. Frankly, she doesn’t care what happens. It’s not as if there’s anywhere better to be, or anything better to do. There’s nothing else she wants to do. This degree, and what comes after, that’s all that matters. Despite what her asshole professors keep saying about ‘people like her’ - and she knows they mean _women like her_ , that they mean _women_ – she knows she’s light years ahead of everyone else in her class. And she knows that they know it too. Needless to say, class is not always the most fun place to be.

And worst of all nobody appreciates her taste in music, which is a _crime._

She bobs her head in time to the music, tapping her foot and soldering along with the rhythm. This is the best way to work, lost in her own flow and letting all the knowledge she’s pounded into her brain do its thing, no blocks, and no interruptions. And no need to worry about fire alarms this time – she’s disconnected the one in the room. Admittedly she might only be eighty percent sure of what she’s doing, but she’s pretty sure it will work. It would be too much to hope it gets her any extra credit with her current professor but still. It might impress someone, someday. In a pause between songs she hears laughter and shrieking from outside the window and she can’t help herself.

Holtzmann gets up and leans out of the open window, pushing her goggles up to look down at the street. The sun is setting, bathing the streets in a red-orange glow, lighting up a group of girls huddling together on their walk home. They’re chattering loudly, leaning into each other and laughing. One of them glances up and sees Holtzmann. The music has started up again and Holtzmann plays to her audience of one, cranking it up and mouthing along to the words. The girl grins, snapping her fingers and shimmying too. She grins wider, and ends up nearly tumbling from the window. The girl gasps, laughs, nudges one of her friends. The other girls look up, wave and shout a collective hello. Holtzmann steadies herself, beaming, about to reply herself. But they’re already walking away, absorbed in each other again. Her smile turns to a bare toothed grimaced, and she draws back inside, yanking the curtains shut this time.

Whatever it is she’s feeling right now, she’s very much Not Into It, so she thumps back down into her chair, picks up her tools and works into the night. Her roommate finds her when she returns the next morning, asleep in a pile of circuits with something like a bear trap half-finished in front of her. Holtzmann is woken by a screaming lecture about health and safety and something about ‘being a dangerous lunatic’.

She scratches at her tangled hair, and thinks about getting her own place.

\---

She’s 26, working late with Doctor Gorin. It’s still incredible she gets to be here at all, working with this woman who knows so much more than she does, and is somehow willing to share it with her. With her! But her girlfriend calls, wanting her to come and meet her.

“Just for like an hour! There’s some really cool girls from work here – you’ll love them, I know you will! You don’t have to stay all night, you can go back to your science cave afterwards, I promise. I love you!” Holtzmann caves. She swaps lab-coat for jacket, pushes her goggles up into her hair, and heads to meet her at the bar. She’s facing away from the door when Holtzmann gets there, and she pauses for a moment to grin. Tall, hair like a Disney princess, a smile to light up an entire town. She has no idea how she got this lucky.

There are three women sat with her, and all of them are deeply involved in talking together. Holtzmann strides up, and drapes herself over her girlfriend’s shoulders.

“Jillian Holtzmann, absolutely charmed,” she purrs, grinning at the slightly shocked look on the three women. She slides away from her girlfriends, takes the hand of one of the women and kisses it, then pulls up a chair. They all laugh a little, and her girlfriend rolls her eyes. They laugh a little, and her girlfriend rolls her eyes.

"C'mere, joker," she leans over and Holtzmann kisses her. Every time feels as beautiful as the first time, but too soon she's pulling away. "Anyway, Jill, these are some of the girls from work I was telling you about - this is Andrea, Kadie, and Eliza.” She gestures at each in turn. Andrea is tan and lovely, with long legs bared to the world. Kadie is Chinese with immaculate lipstick and her legs crossed primly – she only nods when motioned at. Eliza is drop-dead gorgeous, with dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail and impossibly tight jeans.

Holtzmann realises she’s quite possibly in some kind of lesbian paradise and decides that maybe leaving the lab once in a while isn’t such an awful idea.

"Jill's a scientist, working with Doctor Gorin," her girlfriend says. The other women look suitably impressed. "You wouldn't know it to look at her, but she's very clever."

"A double edged compliment, but I'll take it," Holtzmann drawls. Her girlfriend's chuckle is somewhat forced.

"She cleans up nice, though, with a little effort. You know how it is." The others giggle, nod, and commiserate. Holtzmann swallows the ruder remark she wants to make, trying to keep the peace, and stares around the bar. The three of the keep talking, and Holtzmann wonders why she was really invited. None of them are making any special effort to actually talk to her, and anything she tries to say is giggled away politely. It’s only when her girlfriend kisses her, then says, “You know, Eliza, maybe you should look to the sciences yourself. It’s where they keep all the beautiful, lonely girls!” that she realises what’s going on here.

Holtzmann pulls away. She grabs one of the drinks at the bar, not caring whose it is or what it is, downs the whole thing in one gulp, and stands up.

"Thanks for the wonderful night out, but I have beautiful, lonely science to make." She pulls her goggles down with a snap, glaring out at the yellow-tinted four of them. "I shouldn't neglect it for too long. It might start feeling unwanted. And, you know," she takes her girlfriends hands, "I'm just not in a place right now where I can carry two lovers, baby. I gotta follow my heart. It's been breath-taking." She spins and strides out, letting the door slam behind her. She shoves her hands into her pockets and when she gets back to the lab, Doctor Gorin raises an eyebrow, and wordlessly holds out a lab coat.

\---

She's 32 and there's an uptight brunette in the ugliest skirt she's ever seen standing in the workshop. She's mad about Abby's book for some reason, and there's a ghost in some mansion. She's 32 and the brunette is covered in ectoplasm and Abby is laughing and the three of them are jumping and shrieking and the ghost was real. They're finally kicked out of the school and she's never been happier to not know what the hell is going to happen now.

She's 32 and the city is set for destruction and the only thing stopping it is her inventions and the three other women carrying them. The whole world has lost its mind and Holtzmann has never felt more like herself. She licks her gun, smells sizzling plasma, and kicks ghostly ass.

She's 32 and Erin and Abby are alive and the world is back to normal except it won't ever be normal again and it doesn't feel like her heart has slowed down since the portal closed. Patty's next to her, smiling, and Abby is the happiest Holtzmann's ever seen her and she opens her mouth and can't help what comes pouring out. What she says is stilted, and cheesy, and she can hardly meet any of their eyes, and she's sure they're going to laugh at her. But Patty is saying how real it was, and they’re all looking at her with something like love in their eyes and she can’t stop smiling back at them.

She's 32 and on the roof, the city lit up with love for the Ghostbusters. For Abby and Erin and Patty and.... And her. Patty and Erin have their arms around each other’s shoulders, and Holtzmann glances at Abby, before doing the same. They all lean into each other, staring out at the lights, and she can feel the warmth of Abby's body next to her. She could, she thinks, stay like this forever. Holtzmann sighs, stares out into the night, and says;

“You guys think we should get some kind of bat symbol?”


End file.
